


Tipping Point

by Ulan



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Rivendell | Imladris, Seasons, Second Age, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/pseuds/Ulan
Summary: To long for a friend in secret is a cold and lonely thing, engulfing the heart as though in layers of ice. Until when can one endure, and what happens when it cracks and threatens to destroy all in the resulting avalanche?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a spin-off of "Flowers for Midsummer" in that this is set in the same world as that story, except that summer day with Arwen never happened. This is therefore a story between two long-time friends, but where things are slowly changing for one of them.
> 
> You don't have to have read Flowers to understand this story, as it is meant to stand on its own. You could even read this first, and then read Flowers if you haven't yet. Each story just provides details to Glorfindel and Erestor's friendship that are not mentioned in the other story, so some readers might find that fun to read and think, "Oh, so things were like this for them!" At least I think so. :)

"It is getting colder now."

Glorfindel looks up from when he had just turned the lock on the chess board, enclosing the pieces within. He finds Erestor bundled up in a blanket, which Glorfindel used to bring for Erestor to spread on his lap for warmth, but almost always ends up around his shoulders.

"Aye," he agrees, turning to look out the windows. Somehow, moonlight makes the evening appear even colder. He looks back at Erestor. "Are you staying the night?"

"Yes, please, if you would be so kind," says the chief counsellor as he tucks himself further within the blanket. "The mere idea of walking down the halls at this time of night, this time of the year... aiya, it is too unpleasant."

Glorfindel smiles softly at the sight of him suppressing a shiver, no doubt imagining his feet treading down the icy floors. Erestor, ever the strangest of Elves, is sensitive to the cold. One would not believe he was able to cross the Grinding Ice, looking at him now. That must have been one of the first miracles of that age.

Then again, odd though it all seems, Glorfindel considers it a blessing. It keeps him here, after all, in Glorfindel's rooms, gives them reason to spend more time together. Ever did Glorfindel delight, too, in greeting Anor's light with Erestor asleep beside him - even if that is all that he has, all that it ever has been between the two of them.

"You know I do not mind," he says to Erestor. "You are always welcome to stay."

Erestor smiles. Ithil's silver light shines on one side of his face, the golden light of the fire on the other, and Glorfindel, as always, cannot decide how he prefers him. He has long found Erestor beautiful, but particularly in the dim light like this, in private and with the knowledge that no other sees Erestor this way, Glorfindel finds it more and more difficult not to touch him, not to blurt out things he knows the other would not welcome.

~

Unlike the more mellow peaks of the Ered Luin back in Lindon, the Hithaeglir as seen from Imladris seem more imposing, the ice present nearly year-round. Glorfindel has taken to staring at them whenever he finds some time free, especially since the view of them is best from Erestor's office. When the other is busy, as he is now, Glorfindel sits quietly by the window and allows his thoughts to drift.

He will never say it aloud for he doubts it would be in any way appreciated, but those mountains never fail to make him think of Erestor. That is, recently, far too many things remind him of the chief counsellor, but this time those mountains should be understandable. Grey in the distance, tall and sharp, and with that thick mist almost always covering a good part of its face, the mountain range is a formidable enemy to anyone who dares cross it. Yet, somehow, despite all that, it must still be refuge to something, some white wolves perhaps, or those goats with the large horns.

And of course, outwardly cold though Erestor seems, Glorfindel is nevertheless still most at home with him. Who would have thought he could have something in common with those wild winter creatures?

Glorfindel catches himself, and shakes his head at such silly thoughts.

His eyes stray to his sole companion in the room. How many years has it been? They surely pass fast. He met Erestor at the height of Sauron's rise. Erestor had been an officer of Eregion and he rode with Celebrimbor when the latter sought Gil-galad for aid. The years that followed were a turbulent time - they lost Ost-in-Edhil, they retreated to the vale that later became Imladris, and defended it for the years that followed when the Enemy continued to lay his siege. That had been their way for some time, riding around the vale and sometimes further out across Eriador, wherever they heard of an attack.

Despite it all, and despite even the age that had already passed since then, Glorfindel can still pinpoint the exact moment he began to see Erestor differently. He supposes that, if he would think long and hard about it, it could be that his gaze lingered on Erestor even as far back as that first meeting. He might have thought, for a very brief moment, that Celebrimbor's quiet companion had a unique face despite his colouring being typical of the Noldor, his stance beautiful and noble, and that his eyes were of a striking colour. Glorfindel might have looked at him twice, too, because of his inner light, modest and faint beside the brighter, more fiery Celebrimbor, but perhaps it was also because of this that it felt to Glorfindel cool and soothing, especially with all the action surrounding them at the time.

But the first time he perhaps truly noticed Erestor was at the end of the fighting. Númenor answered Gil-galad's call and they drove the enemy down the ground at Gwathló, after which Sauron and his legion fled. They saw some years of peace after that, were able to finally build Imladris to completion. After the death of his old lord, Erestor followed Elrond to Imladris and he stayed at the main house, as did Glorfindel. This was how Glorfindel found Erestor one evening, alone at one table of the library with a large book open before him, but his gaze was out the window and a look of peace was on his face. He had his hair down, the first Glorfindel had seen it worn thus, and he had about him a thick robe typical of what one wears when lounging around the house. It was so far from the austere and practical style Erestor used to wear as a military officer, though in later years Glorfindel would learn that Erestor was only far too willing to quickly shed the uniforms and paraphernalia of war.

At that moment, Glorfindel realised two things: one, that they were truly indeed at a time of peace and people were beginning to settle down to life outside of the fighting; and two, that Erestor was more suited to such times, for although Glorfindel found him to be a capable and reliable soldier, he looked more in his element in that quiet library. Glorfindel could not help but join him at that time, irresistibly drawn to that peace, and fortunately for him, Erestor did not seem to mind. He even smiled at Glorfindel in greeting.

That was the beginning of a good friendship, eventually the best that Glorfindel could say he ever had. He found Erestor to be excellent company. They apparently shared the same interests, equals more or less in nearly all things. Erestor was instrumental to Glorfindel finally finding his feet in a peaceful world, for ever had he lived and been sharpened by times of war. The transition, Glorfindel knew, was smoothened largely by his own desire to know this side of the other Elf, outside of council and serious times. He did not feel the restlessness of a warrior who had to set aside his sword, for Erestor's conversations and invitations to chess games and practice matches and even riding trips across Eriador adequately filled his time, quieting his mind, allowing his body to release the energy he might have otherwise pent up.

They eventually went to battle again. The Last Alliance was formed and they made a long and arduous march to Mordor, the resulting siege spanning seven years - normally short in the reckoning of Elves, but far too long for any soldier, Elf or Man alike. During that time, Glorfindel's centuries of peace seemed but a distant memory. He dreamt of those days in Imladris whenever he had time to rest in his tent.

"What do you think about?" Erestor once asked him, having invited himself in Glorfindel's tent. There were snowflakes in his hair and the tips of his lashes; it must have started snowing outside, the first of that season, though the skies had threatened to do so already for quite some time.

"Nights in Imladris," Glorfindel had told him. Our chess games in my room, he continued in his mind, discussing stories told over dinner, evening rides, sitting in front of the fire. But all he ends up saying was, "Warmer nights." Nevertheless, when Erestor looked at him at the time, Glorfindel thought he understood.

That was the first time they slept side by side, for that night a storm fell and they both agreed it was unwise for Erestor to leave. After a while, Erestor began spending more nights in Glorfindel's tent than his own. Neither of them spoke of it, but it brought comfort in an otherwise cold and unforgiving land.

Even after the war, the counsellor had developed a habit of falling asleep in Glorfindel's quarters, so that for the first few times, Glorfindel had taken to lifting him up to the sofa and just covering him with a blanket. It all seemed natural at the time, for the death of the High King was still fresh in their grieving hearts, and the uncertainty about the Ring still filled them with dread. After some days, Glorfindel realised that the sofa was not nearly long enough to accommodate Erestor's height, and so he thought to bring him to his bed. It would not be the first time for them to sleep side by side after all, and Glorfindel's bed was certainly wider than a soldier's tent.

That had been their way for some time, though only during winter. Come the season for stirring and the coming spring, Erestor would be good to walk the halls again. And so things settled as wounds and hearts alike mended with every year that passed. Imladris bustled with life and its days as a stronghold faded to memory; Elrond's family grew - three children now - and life went on for all of them.

In the end, when it comes to Erestor, it seems that peace time shall always be Glorfindel's bane. Something always changes when the dust settles. It took Glorfindel a while to notice the way he would sometimes look at his long-time friend, or how he perhaps had always looked at him, though he never knew. Love was not a thing he thought about much, maybe not even at all in that lifetime. But if asked, yes, he would say that he found Erestor beautiful, that he always caught Glorfindel's eyes even in a crowd. Glorfindel never thought to deny this detail; after all, he was not blind.

Still, it had been a shock to learn his own reaction to Erestor's sleeping face one winter night. For the most part, he had been sure that they kept to their own side of the bed. However, he once woke up in the middle of night to find Erestor's face far too close to his own. They were not touching, but he could feel the air between them stir against his lips each time Erestor exhaled. He grew conscious of the warm cocoon they made underneath the blankets, a surprisingly seductive heat that had thus far been alien to him. But it caught him in that one mad moment, the desire to shift closer and bury himself against the fair skin peeking from the neckline of Erestor's robe far too strong for his sleep-addled mind.

On the outside, nothing appeared to have changed. Within Glorfindel, however, something seemed to have been brewing without him knowing, and he realised it only when it was too late. Once he knew enough to look within, he found affection there that was already threatening to break the surface. It stands within him now a giant, massive thing, and no amount of effort could move it nor make it disappear.

Peace has settled around them long this time around. With every passing season that the lands remain quiet, more and more do the old concerns from a time of war fade, giving room for more personal things. Never has Glorfindel known of peace this long, and with nothing else to serve as distraction, he fears that with each day he would fall even further, albeit quietly, like slowly falling snow that shall soon make up an avalanche.

"Snow again tonight, I think," comes a voice behind him. He does not jump when a hand lands gently on his shoulder - though it was close thing - followed by Erestor coming into view as he peers outside the windows to survey the clouds. He is close enough for the scent of pine and his favoured tea to waft past Glorfindel, faint and innocently enticing. Foolish though he knows it to be, Glorfindel breathes in the scent of him just the same; it brings him peace, drives him mad, both in equal parts.

He does not look at Erestor and instead glues his eyes to the world outside. Distant though the Hithaeglir seem to him, ever do they reflect this great secret of his heart. Erestor continues to stand beside him, tall and formidable like those mountains, and like the ice that builds at their peaks, the longing grows in Glorfindel, and it feels heavier with every passing day.

~

For how many nights has it been this time? Glorfindel does not know anymore how many times he has lost sleep just like this. With the snow storm beating down upon the world outside their windows, no doubt every Elf in Imladris is tucked warmly in their beds. Glorfindel wonders how many of them remain awake as he does.

Erestor is so carelessly brutal, Glorfindel thinks to himself. He spends nearly every winter night now with Glorfindel, refusing to walk his bare feet along the cold floors of the halls. Tonight was no exception, and Glorfindel, ever the fool, never thought to refuse him, for despite his lack of sleep, he would not trade these nights for anything.

He shifts in bed, fully facing Erestor. A hand lifts to trace a finger lightly down the side of the counsellor's face. Several nights ago, Glorfindel made the mistake of giving in and finally touching Erestor like this in his sleep. Erestor slept deeply and so he did not wake, so Glorfindel was able to touch him long enough for it to burn, for the curious touch to grow bolder, his palm touching where at first only fingers were intended. From hair, to cheeks, to down that long neck, Glorfindel's hand slid down until his palm was flush against warm skin, fingertips touching Erestor's nape, thumb slowly tracing up that smooth length. Erestor stirred a little then but soon fell back asleep, but it had been enough for Glorfindel to guiltily snatch his hand away.

Glorfindel has not slept since that night. Every night he now spends it thus, taking liberties he can never take when his friend is awake. Deep down he knows what a great breach of trust this is, especially when it grows more dangerous each time. Even now he feels the pressure rising, his gaze growing heated how ever much he attempts to suppress it, an emotion that should be forbidden between friends and brothers-in-arms nonetheless filling him to the brim, unstoppable as the winds beyond this room.

Outside, the storm rages, the snow on the grounds and the tree branches no doubt growing thick beyond any they have seen in recent decades.

"Erestor," is his pained whisper, drowned by the howling winds and the rattling of the window panes. He stares at him a moment longer before he says, "Forgive me."

And there it goes, his secret avalanche, for weeks just tittering at that point before the weight of the ice cracks. After years uncounted, tonight, it seems, is the night it finally fails him. Not only does he touch Erestor once again, but he also leans in, does something he has only ever longed to do: his mouth hovers only for a moment, tasting those sweet and now familiar breaths, before finally descending, moulding lips against lips.

Kissing Erestor is every wrong thing he has ever done and yet, it is also everything he ever thought to be wonderful and holy. His lips tremble even as he closes them around Erestor's over and over again, skin against skin in slow, seductive brushes. The kisses are light, so light in fact that they almost tickle, but Glorfindel feels the sparks they cause run down his spine all the same, melting his limbs, making his toes and fingers curl.

Kissing him is exactly like falling; one feels helpless in the midst of it, with fear and relief warring inside alike. Glorfindel falls fast and furiously down the steep mountainslope of awakened desire and there is no way to stop. How can he stop when Erestor feels like nothing he has ever known? Warmer than any hearth, sweeter than finest honey, more precious than anything he had ever possessed - Erestor is everything Glorfindel dreamt him to be and there is no way, no way that Glorfindel can willingly let him go.

It is with that thought that he feels Erestor stirring, waking from a sleep he had trusted a friend to keep safe, and Glorfindel is struck by what he'd done. The chill in his heart grows, one that has been there long that not even that kiss could thaw. He knows that once he pulls away, there is nothing more he can go back to. Erestor will leave, disgusted and betrayed.

It is over.

And so he deepens the kiss, prolongs it, until the heat of his desperation prickle even behind his closed lids, breaks past the gap, flows down his cheeks. He feels Erestor's hand squeezing his wrist, the other pushing against his chest; Erestor begins to struggle until finally Glorfindel has to pull away. His hands remain upon Erestor's, however, pale and trembling and holding on tight.

"Please," he hears himself say. He buries his face on Erestor's shoulder, for he knows nowhere else to find refuge even at a time like this. "I am sorry, Erestor, but please..."

What can one say in times like this? The words stick to his throat, for all that he comes up with are either untruths or pathetic and baseless begging. He hears Erestor saying his name in the silence and Glorfindel shivers as it registers to him. He cannot face him.

"Glorfindel?" Hands on his shoulders now, slightly shaking.

"I am sorry," Glorfindel says again. His fingers curl around the material of Erestor's robe, his voice muffled in the cloth. "Please, do not go. I know what I have done, but I am not ready yet to..." Nothing still, nothing that can matter, and yet he is not above begging. "Please, do not go."

"Why would I go?"

The words are slow to sink in, and when they do Glorfindel looks up at him, blurry in his vision but always, always beautiful still. "Are you not angry?" he asks, voice small and hesitant.

There is... sympathy, or pity, in Erestor's eyes as he asks, "Why would I be?"

His response floors Glorfindel. "I kissed you."

"I know."

"Don't you understand?" More desperately now, growing restless again. "I love you."

He blurts it out with so little elegance that it takes them both by surprise. Erestor, however, is the first to recover, and he takes Glorfindel's trembling hands and wraps them with the warmth of his own.

"Yes, I... gathered as much. But, before anything else..." He reaches out toward Glorfindel and this time takes his face between both hands. His touch is gentle and the effect of it almost instant: despite the confusion, the pounding and ringing in Glorfindel's ears settle, he breathes deeper, and his vision clears. "Calm down," Erestor gently urges.

He pulls Glorfindel down so he is lying on Erestor's chest. Glorfindel, in his shock, goes along with him, sinking down and pressing his ears against that welcoming warmth even as his world slows down from its earlier panic. Erestor's hand rests against Glorfindel's hair, his fingers slightly moving as they weave through the wavy strands. Glorfindel sighs and closes his eyes in response to that sensation.

"How long have you been bothered by this?" Erestor's voice is a deep rumble, his chest pressed as it is against Glorfindel's ear.

Glorfindel tenses a little at the question, which Erestor seems to catch. His hand settles on Glorfindel's nape, a calming presence there, lightly squeezing. "A while," whispers Glorfindel. Relief fills him with the admission so that he also ends up whispering again, "I love you."

The words fill his mind and play over and over, but he bites his lips together, thinking he had said more than enough. Erestor is not pulling away and that is a great relief, even if surely he will soon tell Glorfindel that he is a good friend, but nothing more. Glorfindel convinces himself that this is all right, that he knew from the very beginning that there was little hope for it in the first place, his hopeless regard, and if Erestor can just let them be how they used to be, then he will be content.

Erestor, once again, surprises him. He bestows a kiss on the crown of Glorfindel's head, making him look up again.

"Erestor?"

Erestor smiles, gently in that way that feels familiar, one Glorfindel now realises has always been directed at him. This time around, it is Erestor who kisses him, dipping down and holding Glorfindel's face between both hands. His kisses are light, slow and comforting and seductive and goes straight to Glorfindel's head. It takes a while for it to sink in, the idea of it nearly overwhelming, but when Glorfindel does move, he surges up to him, meeting that kiss, lips parting to receive everything that is offered.

"All right?" whispers Erestor during a pause in those heady kisses.

"I do not..." Glorfindel clears his throat, feeling out of breath. "I do not understand."

Again, that smile. "You are a silly Elf, really," Erestor says gently. "After all this time... if you still do not understand, then just keep kissing me until you do."

Outside the storm continues to rage, the rattling of the window panes still as violent as the beating of Glorfindel's heart. This time, however, it is not so bad. Erestor chuckles as he rolls Glorfindel to his back, gives him again those sweet, warm kisses. Slowly, despite the cold and the myriad of questions that run still in his mind, they are together beneath the blankets so that none of it matters. There is time yet for Erestor to tell him more, but at least for tonight, he touches Glorfindel in return, and Glorfindel can feel the ice begin to thaw.

**Author's Note:**

> You'll have to forgive me; I forgot why I revisited this world at all. ^^; I think I remember seeing the line again somewhere about Glorfindel longing for Erestor as they slept side by side and picked it up from there? My mind's a mess these days.
> 
> The winter theme came on a whim, but I welcomed it when it did as I thought that it makes this story an even better complement to Flowers, which was set in summer. If you have read both stories, I would love to know which version you prefer. :)


End file.
